


Maiden Crowned In Flowers

by falindis



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birth of Celebrimbor, F/M, Falling In Love, House of Finwë - Freeform, Innumerable Stars, References to Celegorm/Aredhel, Tragic Romance, Yavanna and Aule parallels, family curse, feanorians - Freeform - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26995261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falindis/pseuds/falindis
Summary: “The curse of our bloodline. That, what you refer to as love. It began with Míriel, who left Finwë too soon, and then moved on to Indis, who lost Finwë before his time. That is what our parents suffered from, too. And such is eventually our fate. The nature of love in the house of Finwë is to end in tragedy."The story of how Curufin met his wife, Lóteriel, and fell in and out of love with her, for the Innumerable Stars 2020 Fanfic exchange.
Relationships: Curufin | Curufinwë/Curufin's Wife
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	Maiden Crowned In Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkyEventide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyEventide/gifts).



> Written for @SkyEventide, who had requested Feanorians, and since I have long wanted to write about Curufin's family, I chose to explore his relationship with his wife and son, and the role of tragic love and fate in their family. It turned out to be a tragedy, but with this I aimed to capture the somewhat unique atmosphere of the Silmarillion as "the downfall of the Noldor." Little is said of her wife, so I took liberties in her character and molded her to respond to the storytelling, since this is from Curufin's point of view. 
> 
> If you like, I would love a kudos or comment, and to hear everyone's thoughts on the character of Curufin's wife. ♥

Already when Curufinwë was young, he knew he would suffer for love.

To love was simply in his nature. Ever since childhood, he had never done something only partially. When he enjoyed something, he threw himself at it utterly, whether it was his work at the forge, hunting with his brother, or pleasing his father. He was desperate for love, for the affection that spread in his chest at the simplest recognition. He knew that one day he would love something so completely that it would consume him, losing himself in the process.

Tyelcormo was his opposite. In all his actions he was indifferent. He cared not for approval or disapproval – he simply carried on, unbothered, detached from the concerns of others. He took lover after another, sometimes even several at a time, breaking hearts where he went. More hated than loved him, the black sheep of the family, who cared for naught but his own freedom.

It was rare for him to remain in one place for long, not to mention with one person. Their cousin, Irissë, was the exception. She Tyelcormo never seemed to grow tired of. Occasionally Curufinwë was even jealous, as Tyelcormo and Irissë departed for their long trysts for indefinite time. They would be gone for months, sometimes – yet after each journey they returned the same. They were more than friends yet less than lovers, remaining in a peaceful indecisiveness.

“Tyelko”, Curufinwë asked him once, “do do you not ever wonder that you and Irissë are… stuck?“

“What do you mean?” Tyelcormo replied.

“Things neither move forwards nor backwards. Does it not bother you?”

Tyelcormo’s answer was almost instantaneous. “No, because I prefer the way things are between us.”

Curufinwë was not sure whether he believed him. “Truly? You do not wish for them to go… further?”

“No. What we have is strictly carnal, and I wish to keep it that way. Simple.”

“It does not seem simple to me. How can you share your _hröar_ without committing yourself to her truly?”

“But I do commit myself. When we take pleasure, I give her all of me. But it remains in the act of coitus. When our _hröar_ are not joined, neither are our _fëar.”_

“I still do not see it”, Curufinwë replied. “For me, the _fëa_ is a necessary part of the _hröa,_ something that can be separated only in death. Once two _hröar_ are joined, so are the _fëar,_ and cannot not be parted. That is why us _Eldar_ marry only once, save for our grandfather. And all can see the strife that it has caused us.”

“That joining is exactly what causes the strife”, Tyelcormo said. “The curse of our bloodline. That, what you refer to as love. It began with Míriel, who left Finwë too soon, and then moved on to Indis, who lost Finwë before his time. That is what our parents suffered from, too. And such is eventually our fate. The nature of love in the house of Finwë is to end in tragedy.” Tyelcormo let out a long sigh: mournful, even. “Thus, I choose not to love. I may take pleasure, but never give out my heart. For no-one deserves to be bound into such a fate.”

Curufinwë shook his head. “No. I refuse. Although our family has suffered its share of misfortune, it does not mean that we could not break that curse. How could we know, if we never truly tried?”

And although Curufinwë then believed that the pity he saw in Tyelcormo’s eyes then only reflected his own, he later came to know the bitter truth – that the taste of love was of ash and cinders.

*

It all began with a white flower.

It had made its way into the darkness of the Woods of Oromë, among the thick undergrowth were light seldom passed. Curufinwë would hunt there together with Tyelcormo sometimes, spending days chasing prey and then feasting afterwards with the Lord of the Hunt. Although Curufinwë had always been closer to Aulë, he enjoyed the wild carefreeness of Oromë, compared to the strict Lord of the Forge.

Curufinwë remembered observing the flower for long. He was surprised that it would thrive here, and grow so beautiful of all things. For that short moment he forgot that Tyelcormo was here with him, hiding in the bushes somewhere nearby. That is why he was surprised when he suddenly saw movement among the trees.

Silver hair like the light of Telperion, crowned in white petals.

“Tyelcormo?”

The figure turned its head. Tyelcormo noticed then that this was not his brother after all – but an unknown elven woman, accompanied by few others, dark-haired and with flower crowns of red.

“Oh”, Curufinwë said. “I am sorry. I mistook you for another, my lady.”

“There is no trouble.”

Her voice sounded like music. Like a sweeping glissando that Macalaurë could conjure on his harp.

“Thank you, my lady. If I may ask… what are you doing here, in the darkness of the forest? The Woods can be perilous for those, who do not know their path.”

“You need not worry, young hunter”, the woman replied. “We are ladies of Yavanna, and the trees here are our friends. We pass through Lord Oromë’s woods sometimes, on our way to the pastures. The path is clear to us.”

“Good.” Curufinwë smiled. “May I ask for your name and kin, lady?”

“Lóteriel. Me and my sisters are of the Ñoldor.”

 _“Maiden crowned in flowers”,_ Curufinwë translated. “A fitting name.”

“Yes”, Lóteriel replied, a light blush tinting her cheeks, “and you are?”

Curufinwë felt his eyebrows crease. It was rare for someone of the Ñoldor not to recognize him, although they were a big people – he was the king’s grandson, after all. But dressed like that, in hunter gear, his hair tousled and face dirty from many days spent in the woods, he barely recognized himself, either.

“My name is Curufinwë Fëanárion”, he introduced himself, “prince of the Ñoldor.”

*

After their first meeting, Curufinwë found himself thinking about Lóteriel.

Simple, little things, really – the rare color of her hair, much like Tyelcormo’s own – and Míriel’s before him. The white flowers on her head and their sweet, captivating scent.

They were rare thoughts, ones Curufinwë barely recognized as his own. He was not sure whether he had ever had their kind.

And unlike most rare thoughts that he got, these did not leave him immediately. He kept on thinking about them. Several days, even. One morning he woke up with the scent of flowers in his nose. But as soon as he opened his eyes, it was gone.

Curufinwë did not expect to see her again, but secretly he found himself hoping. He came on hunts more often than before, to the delight of his brother – for a while Tyelcormo thought that he had given up his ambitions to become a smith and join him as a hunter. But the hunts never yielded results.

In fact, it was in Tirion that Curufinwë saw her, during the harvest festival. She was even more marvelous than he had remembered, dancing on the square, flowers in her hair. Curufinwë watched her from afar, mouth open in wonder, until he felt Tyelcormo’s elbow poke his side.

“What has gone into you, brother?” Tyelcormo teased. “It is unlikely for you to stare.”

“Nothing”, Curufinwë shook his head, hiding his blush behind a veil of hair. “Thinking of work, that is all.”

“Work? On a day like this? Loosen up, Curvo. Enjoy yourself for once.”

Lóteriel’s white dress fluttered in the wind, spinning along with the music.

“Perhaps I will”, Curufinwë decided, and sealed his fate.

*

It was in the gardens that Curufinwë found her later. On the square the festival continued, the thrum of the music still faintly audible. But Curufinwë did not pay attention to the music. He only saw her.

“I hope I do not disturb?”

Lóteriel slowly lifted her gaze. Recognition lit up in her eyes, and she bowed her head. “Your highness.”

“There is no need for that”, Curufinwë waved his hand. “Tonight we celebrate, lord and commoner alike.”

“Yet you are far from the celebrations”, Lóteriel said. “Why is that, I wonder?”

“Perhaps I have found joy elsewhere.” Curufinwë gave pause, then turned his eyes upon Lóteriel’s hands, caught among tangled vines. “It appears I am not the only one.”

Lóteriel’s lips curled in a half smile. “The plants need some company, too.”

“Oh? I did not know they had feelings.”

“They do.” Lóteriel ran her fingers gently through the leaves. “Everything that grows has a part of Yavanna’s spirit in it. Yavanna feels their emotions, and the plants feel hers. They are an extension of her _fëa.”_

The words made little sense to Curufinwë, but he listened regardless, fascinated by the passion that Lóteriel spoke them with. “It must require a lot of patience working with them.”

“Yes”, Lóteriel said, “compared to smithing, I guess it does. The work of my hands is not immediately visible. But it is rewarding nurturing something for long, then seeing it grow into something beautiful, although it would not seem like it at first.”

“How do you find your resolve?”

“Through faith.” Lóteriel drew away the wall of vines, discovering a purple bloom beneath them. “For sometimes a seed of promise may be found even in the most unlikely places.”

*

Like a seed that awaited long hidden beneath the earth, their love was the slow kind. Each time they met, Curufinwë would slowly fall in love a fragment more, until he found that the last and first thought of his day was Lóteriel.

Their first kiss was beneath the branches of Telperion, bathed in their silver glow. It was there where Lóteriel asked for his love, and Curufinwë accepted.

He should have said no there and then, instead of dooming her into a story with a tragic end. But he loved her too much – and that, in the end, was the biggest tragedy of them all.

Their marriage was announced soon after. Fëanáro was overjoyed to hear of his son’s new love, although Lóteriel was far from nobility – even more he joyed to know that he would soon become a grandfather. It was one of the reasons why Curufinwë was his father’s favorite – not only because he was so much like him – but because he carried on their line. It had always been obvious that Maitimo did not have romantic feelings for women, making him unlikely to sire an heir. Tyelcormo and the twins were too fickle, and Carnistir only cared for his work. Macalaurë had a wife, but despite their rigorous attempts, they had not been blessed with a child. Thus, the task fell to Curufinwë.

Lóteriel’s pregnancy was difficult. It was during that time that her relationship with Curufinwë was truly tested. Even though Curufinwë loved her more than anything in the world, during those times he doubted his capability as a husband – and even moreso as a father. He would drown himself in his work, and his fiery nature would clash with hers – but like an old tree that faced the storm, she would root herself into the earth, grounding him down with her. Many said that their love reminded them of Yavanna and Aulë, two so opposing powers together as one.

It was to Yavanna and Aulë both that Curufinwë prayed on the night that Lóteriel gave birth. It was a long ordeal, the hours dragging on and on. Curufinwë wondered then if this is how his grandfather Finwë had felt during the birth of Fëanáro. Lóteriel was so like Míriel, both of their hair carrying the light of Telperion, and they shared fine hands and a caring nature.

Perhaps, due to Curufinwë’s prayers, those fears never came to pass. After a day that had felt like a lifetime Lóteriel finally gave birth to a healthy baby boy, with a soft tuft of silver on his forehead.

“What shall we name him?” Lóteriel asked as she let Curufinwë hold the baby in his arms. The child was yet a small, vulnerable thing, but the hand that grasped onto Curufinwë’s fingers held on remarkably tight. A strong grip, like Curufinwë’s own, and like his father’s before him.

“He has your silver hair”, Curufinwë replied, “but my eyes and strength. _Tyelperinquar,_ I name him, _Silver-fist,_ a homage to us both.”

“A fitting name”, Lóteriel smiled a tired smile. “I love him already.”

“Me too”, Curufinwë replied, his chest bursting with a warmth akin to the glow of his forge – an emotion he did not think that he deserved. Perhaps he did not even believe this happiness to be true, that the curse of his blood should have brought an end to it already. “Just like I love you.”

Lóteriel was not taken away from him that day, nor soon later. It was only many years later, after the unchaining of Melkor, that the seeds of discord were sown among the Ñoldor. It was then when Fëanáro crafted the Silmarili – the jewels that carried the light of the Two Trees. For a while they blazed bright on Fëanáro’s forehead, as a proof of the might and handiwork of their people.

The seeds of unrest began to take root, then, and with those, the first cracks into the love of Curufinwë and Lóteriel were borne. Tyelperinquar was yet young and did not understand the feud of their parents, but having inherited his father’s gifts, he had grown closer to him and further from his mother, which separated the three even more.

With the death of the two Trees and Finwë, and the theft of Fëanáro’s mightiest work, the great sorrow caught up with Curufinwë at last.

*

Although Curufinwë and his brothers swore by their lives to retrieve the Silmarili, Lóteriel could not speak the oath.

“It is not right”, she told Curufinwë after, once they were far from curious ears, “to pursue them with violence. I am a Lady of Yavanna, sworn to protect and nurture all life. Why would you go to these lengths over a dead thing?”

“The Silmarili are not dead”, Curufinwë protested, angered that Lóteriel would even suggest such a thing. “They are _alive,_ filled with father’s _fëa_ and the light of the Two Trees – the trees that your Lady herself created! Would you not honor her by reclaiming their light? If we do not reclaim them, they will be tainted, diminished by the darkness.”

But Curufinwë was not the only one who was upset– tears had sprung into Lóteriel’s eyes, her voice shaking with anger. “Perhaps, if Fëanáro had given up the jewels like he had been requested, none of this would have ever happened.”

“The Valar had no right to them! They belonged to my father, and my father alone, and that is the end of this matter!”

Lóteriel looked as if she had been struck. They sat long in a tear-stricken silence, with the crackle of the fire as the only sound.

“This is too much”, Lóteriel finally said, not daring to meet Curufinwë’s eye. “I do not know if I can do this anymore.”

Curufinwë should have said something then. Anything. Even if it was just a single word.

He did not. He simply left, slamming the door behind him, not returning home until after dark. They did not sleep together with Lóteriel that night, nor any night soon after. The nights that Lóteriel allowed him to come close were cold, colder than they would be than if Curufinwë was alone.

The Oath ate him up more and more every day, and as Fëanáro called the Ñoldor to arms to pursue Morgoth into Middle-Earth, Curufinwë knew that he had only one choice.

“I will leave with father”, he told Lóteriel then. “To Middle-Earth.”

“I know.”

“I might never come back.”

“I know that too.”

“I will not force you to come with, if you do not want. Middle-Earth is a barren place, far from Yavanna’s touch. I would be cruel to force you apart. The choice is yours.”

“You already know my choice.”

“I do”, Curufin continued, surprised with how even his tone was. It was remarkable how calm he felt saying those words, after all the fighting and pain. Perhaps he was already too numb from it to feel it anymore. “The only question now is Tyelperinquar. What shall we do with him?”

“I would not separate the child from his father”, Lóteriel replied. “He loves you. Besides, there is nothing left for him here.”

The rest were left unsaid, but Curufinwë knew what she meant. Tyelperinquar was too much like his father, and being rid of him was the only way to truly forget. It would hurt less than the other option.

“What are you still doing there?” Lóteriel asked after a moment of silence. “Do you not still have packing to do?”

“Yes”, Curufin replied. “Maybe I just wanted to say…”

“What?”

“I just wanted you to know…”

Lóteriel raised her eyes. It felt like it had been such a long time that Curufinwë had seen them that he had forgotten how they looked like. It was as if he had never truly appreciated them enough to realize what color they were.

Green. A bright, leafy-green color, like the life that sprung between her fingertips, like the forests where they first met.

“It’s a shame, really”, Curufinwë lamented, “that this is how it ends. If it wasn’t for this curse in my blood… perhaps things could have gone better between us. I always thought… that we could make an exception. It appears I was wrong, after all.”

“At least there is one thing that you are right about.”

“I loved you”, Curufinwë said, although he knew his words would not make a difference. “I still do.”

“I love you too”, Lóteriel replied, the words unsaid hanging in the air – _but this is a path that I cannot follow._

*

Curufinwë followed up on his promise. He left together with his father and brothers, taking young Tyelperinquar with. Lóteriel stayed, as did most of the women of their house. They all kept saying each other that it was for the best, that this was no journey for a woman, but they all knew the unspoken truth – that the oath had ripped their families apart. It led them into atrocious deeds from which there was no coming back, into hands of blood and blackened skies with red horizons.

Day by day, the green of Lóteriel’s eyes seemed further and further away.

“Do you ever miss her?” Tyelperinquar asked Curufinwë one day, as they sat together on the boat to Middle-Earth and watched the dark waters. The horizon was already long gone, with only waves as far as they could see. “Mother.”

“Every day”, Curufinwë replied.

“Why did you leave her, then?”

“Because I wanted to protect her.”

“From Morgoth?”

“From myself. She was better off without me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. One day, when you are older, you will meet someone like her. Someone who takes your breath away. When that day comes, remember these words.”

Curufinwë gave a thoughtful pause. A pause, when he briefly considered that perhaps there was no curse after all – that instead he had brought this upon himself – that he was so scared of failure that he believed it to be his only choice. But as soon as the thought had come to him it was gone, and all that was left was certainty.

“The nature of love in the house of Finwë is to end in tragedy.”


End file.
